Project Gaia : The arrival of humanity

Chapter 32 : Paradox

"The more we learn, the more we realize how much we don't know."

- Albert Einstein

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Gaia, Southwestern "New Pangaea" Continent. July 3rd 2038. 0800 Hours.

The village lay silent under a gray, overcast sky. The morning sun struggled to pierce through the dense clouds, casting faint light over the rustic wooden structures and cobbled pathways. Éric Lavigne, one of the scientists from the UN First Contact team, walked carefully through the muddy streets, his boots leaving imprints in the damp earth. The air smelled of rain and woodsmoke, and faint traces of ash from the recent conflict still lingered.

This village, whose name he had learned was 'Whi-neighy-pool', was unlike anything Éric had ever seen. It felt as though he had stepped into a time machine to Europe's medieval past-a place untouched by time. Thatched roofs, timber-framed houses, stone chimneys, and wooden fences lined the narrow roads. He passed empty market stalls, their wooden counters still covered in scraps of rotting vegetables and cracked pottery.

The silence was eerie. The once-bustling village now stood abandoned, with most of its inhabitants relocated to temporary UNHCR tents set up on the village's outskirts. The few remaining ponies-mostly elderly or injured-huddled under the beige tarpaulins, their wide eyes watching the human visitors with a mix of fear and curiosity.

Éric adjusted his glasses and jotted down a few observations in his leather-bound notebook. His eyes scanned every building he passed-a pottery shop, where half-finished clay bowls and vases sat cracked and dry; a blacksmith's forge, where rusting swords and horseshoes lay scattered across soot-stained tables; and even a tavern, its windows smashed and wooden furniture overturned, no doubt used as improvised barricades during the skirmish.

"This is like walking through a scene from The Canterbury Tales," Éric muttered to himself. "Their society seems to have plateaued somewhere around the 14th century..."

His next stop was the village hall-a large wooden structure with ornate carvings on its support beams. The building had seen better days. Its roof was partially caved in from stray shrapnel, and scorch marks marred the exterior walls. Inside, the hall was in disarray. Broken furniture was piled against doorways, windows were shattered, and the faint smell of dried blood still clung to the air.

Despite the damage, the hall retained a sense of solemn authority. Éric stepped carefully over splintered wood and shards of glass as he made his way toward the far end of the hall, where several paintings hung on the walls. Most were simple landscapes-rolling hills, peaceful forests, serene rivers. Others depicted ponies in various activities-farming, dancing, or crafting tools.

But one painting caught his attention.

It was larger than the others and far more detailed. The canvas depicted an equine figure unlike any Éric had encountered so far. Standing majestically against a golden sunrise, the creature had both a spiraled horn and a pair of expansive, feathered wings. Its coat shimmered in soft white tones, and its ethereal mane flowed in hues of pink, blue, and green, as if caught in an eternal breeze. Upon its head sat a golden crown, adorned with sparkling gems, and around its neck hung a radiant necklace.

"Mon Dieu..." Éric whispered in awe. "Who... or what are you?"

The figure in the painting radiated authority, grace, and power. Its eyes, though mere brushstrokes on canvas, seemed to hold wisdom beyond mortal comprehension. Éric leaned closer, inspecting the fine details of the painting-the intricate patterns on the crown, the lifelike texture of the mane, and the way light and shadow played across the creature's wings.